


Stumbling through  a duet

by andthestorystarts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I suppose?, Singing, SingingDave, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthestorystarts/pseuds/andthestorystarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Au in which Dave gets into the singing showbiz and drags John along<br/>mainly gonna be domestic stuff really</p><p> </p><p>Wherever one of them went, the other followed, or was dragged kicking and screaming along- Metaphorically of course. (Except that one time where- no, that's for another story.)</p><p>Point was, when there was one, there was statistically, the other.</p><p>-</p><p>Because of this, when the both of you were about nineteen and Dirk offered to try and get Dave a little bit of a push into the music world, Dave looked at you and grabbed your hand and pulled you right in with him, (Not that you would have it any other way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay so  
> i was honestly just laying in bed trying to doze and listening to music  
> then the acoustic version of knives and pens came on to my mp3 and i just  
> i was thinking about homestuck and my mind just mumbled 'i wonder what would happen if dave sang this'  
> bang fic idea that cONSUMED MY LIFE  
> (after some more re-listening to songs i think the original knives and pens would fit better voice wise so here's that  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEb3GQqdHD4)  
> the song might not be everyones cup of tea buuut i like it  
> even if you dont could you wait for the voice so you can see what kind of singing voice im picturing dave to have?

Ever since they were kids, since their parents(or a caregiver named Dirk in Dave's case) dropped them off at kindergarten and the both of them headed immediately over to the games section and then started wrestling over the last action figure, Dave and John had been the best of friends. 

 

Bit of a strange start to a friendship, maybe, since it ended in a black eye for John and a bloody nose for Dave- but then again they were young, they were boys, and they bonded over it. Well not instantly, but rather the next day, after the fight was forgotten for a moment whilst they sucked down their juice boxes and both grabbed different action figures. 

 

That small friendship turned into something damn near unbreakable as they got older, and they became almost inseparable. Wherever one of them went, the other followed, or was dragged kicking and screaming along- Metaphorically of course. (Except that one time where- no, that's for another story. Lets just say that it involved cake.)

 

Point was, when there was one, there was statistically, the other.

 

-

 

Because of this, when the both of you were about nineteen and Dirk offered to try and get Dave a little bit of a push into the music world, Dave looked at you and grabbed your hand and pulled you right in with him, (Not that you would have it any other way.)

You couldn't sing for shit, not like Dave, but you could play the piano pretty damn well, and apparently(luckily) that was needed where Dave headed. 

In all honesty, you don't understand much of anything that happened, other than Dirk managed to get Dave into the place Dirk worked, and got him to sing. Once that switch was flipped, there was no flicking it back, and a blur of things that ended up with Dave in a band(that sometimes included you) and was singing in the studio, then on tv, then on stage, and it just kept going, kept escalating.

 

You would say that you had no idea how it all happened, but you do. And that, very simply put, was that Dave had a fucking nice voice to listen to. He couldn't play any instrument, had always wondered how you could read the music(or as he called them 'those squiggly things with the heads and tails'), couldn't dance or anything, but boy that kid had a damn fine set of vocal chords on him. Before he was all popular – mainly with the teens (especially the girls), when you were both younger, when it was just the two of you in your own little world, sometimes, during sleepovers, you'd persuade him to sing, his soft voice drifting through the room. He was never too shy about it, but for some reason he just didn't often do it, especially around people other than you. 

Now, it was his job.

   
-

 

You’d been asked a couple of times, but Dave didn’t really seem to have an accent that you noticed- although when he was stressed or flustered or anything down those tracks, he would gain a hint of something Texan, which you always assumed came from Dirk.

  
-  
  
  
With him as the singer, the rest of his band was this fella called Jake who did the drums, so enthusiastically that it was a bit frightening sometimes, two guitarists called Roxy and Rose, who apparently were related somehow and both kicked ass on the instruments, and Jade on the bass, since Dirk had pulled some strings in to get her into it too. One of the people who often worked with Dirk was called Jane, and she was incredibly nice to everyone(except on the rare occasion where she snapped at Jake, who tended to get on her nerves sometimes.)

  
-

   
At some point, before things had really set off, someone from the company had brought up whether or not the fact that Dave had a tongue piercing would change the way he'd sing- or something. Dave replied that he'd had it since he was sixteen, so even if it had caused some change back then, he doubted it'd change from how he sang like now. 

They let him keep it(and he didn't feel the need to mention his nipple one since it held no relevance whatsoever to his singing- although the fans found it in photos scarily quickly.) 

 

They also asked about Dave’s eyes, and there was a discussion about whether or not they should get him to wear brown contacts whenever he was out on stage or doing interviews. Dave ended up putting forth an irritated half speech half rant about how it’d get obvious after a while, and would hurt his eyes if he did it so often- instead, he shot forth the idea that he’d not wear contacts when he was on stage or whatever, and pretend that he was wearing red ones, and would actually wear brown ones during interviews of whatever and pretend that the red irises were the contacts.

The company allowed that, since it was an odd quirk they could play off of.

 

So, Dave sang with his red eyes, though everyone thought they were just fake. Well, there was some suspicion deep in the forums, but then again, when isn’t there?

  
-

  
The two of you shared a flat, which was more or less paid for by the company, so it was a pretty nice one, though the two of you still spent hours just lounging around in your boxers or pissing about on video games in your spare time. Just cause you were in a fancy place did under no circumstances entail you to be fancy yourself.

 

There was something about seeing Dave- this singer who some people would probably cut a hunk of meat off their arm to meet- this guy who you’d known since you were little, slumming around in his pajamas or making his coffee bleary-eyed in the mornings or tucked away on the couch reading or any of that stuff that people actually do, with his red eyes uncovered and all, made your stomach do a couple of flips, knowing that you were one of the few people who saw him like that, who knew him as the guy himself and not the singer. You knew him personally, knew behind that layer of the interviews and everything, knew what kind of things he liked and things he didn’t, what he did when he was lying, how stupidly weird his sleeping schedule(or lack of one) was, how he liked to fidget to music and jerk his fingers or tap his feet and how he couldn’t do that on stage because he wasn’t allowed to, or how his voice sounded when he had been drinking.  
You knew these kinds of things, and sometimes it completely amazed you.  
  
 

Once, just once, you tried to explain that to him when he’d sort of caught you staring a little, and he just gave a snort, flapped a hand and had said,  
‘Dude I’m just the same as ever, I’m just Dave.’  
Your response had been a, ‘Yeah, that’s exactly my point.’  
 

-  
  
  
The first time you’d heard Dave sing inside the recording booth, it was a song you didn’t yet know, hadn’t heard. It sort of.. caught hold of you, and didn’t let go until he’d shut his mouth and opened his eyes.

It was soft, probably directed at the female audience, since it sounded like a slow love song of some kind.

More accurately, you should probably say it was Dave that captured your attention then. Eyes shut, swaying on his feet ever so slightly, his free hand sometimes curled close to his chest, and often moving slowly in the air in some nonsense pattern, expressions pulling at his eyebrows and mouth at certain parts of the song.

You hadn’t seen him like that before, hadn’t come close. It was a new side, a different side to him that you hadn’t come across, and it damn near captivated you.

 

And then the song had ended, Dave’s eyes had opened again, and he’d searched for you behind the panels and grinned when he found you. His mouth opened again, and he said; ‘That okay?’ Logically, you knew that he was asking the people he was recording for, but he was still looking at you, and you could feel a smile starting to stretch across your face, and you gave him two thumbs up and an enthusiastic head nod. Only then did he turn his attention to the people he was supposed to be listening to.

  
-  


Once, after the whole thing had kicked off, when Dave was starting to get more popular and neither of you were used to it, because he seemed rather down at the time, you stupidly and foolishly challenged him to a singstar contest.

Considering you have one of the shittiest singing voices in the history of ever, anyone can probably tell what happened.

He whooped your ass at it, but by the end of it, both of you were grinning, so it was worth the dying cat noises that pass for your singing.  
  
 

You got him back by completely crushing him at dance central. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time ive actually written in the 'you' perspective so expect mistakes  
> speaking of, i think my past/present/future tenses are just flipping in and out everywhere and im very sorry about that but honestly im not very good at spotting them  
> and im too lazy and sleepy to wait for my moirail to come back from school and beta it so im just gonna post this now 
> 
> also just saying that i have literally no idea what happens in the music industry so im completely making it up and being vague as shit for that exact reason sorry guys  
> (i would google this shit but i dont know what to google)
> 
>  
> 
> also yeaaaaah i like giving characters waistcoats

‘Wake uuuup wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup lazypants’

You’re vaguely aware that you seem to be getting hit with a pillow, which only serves to make you curl up tighter into your sheets- which are suddenly ripped away from your grasp, exposing you to the cold. You respond with an angry tired gurgling sound that doesn’t even begin to approach word status and try to curl up even more into yourself.

‘Go ‘ay John.’

‘You knew full well you had this music video thing today so get your lazy butt out of bed before I start kicking you.’

Another eloquent mangled noise.

‘I’m going to count to five.’ And you can just _tell_ the bastard has his hands on his hips, then holding up a hand. ‘One.’  
‘Two.’

You vaguely shift, settling as if you were going to try to go back to sleep.  
‘Three-‘ You feel something latch on to your foot, wrap around it and _tug_ , yanking you away from the mattress and leaving you to tip onto the floor unceremoniously.

‘You _asshole_ , that was _not_ five!’ You’re glaring up at him, though you know there’s not much heat in it- the bugger was grinning his head off, and who sticks out his tongue, and, as if to mock you further, is fully dressed and warm-looking.

‘It is when I know you’re not going to get out of bed any other way. Now go shuffle into the shower, we’ve got to be there in an hour.’ A small thought crosses your mind, of grabbing on to John’s legs as he leaves, so he’d fall, then sticking your hands up his shirt, if only an attempt to warm them up a bit.

You decide against it, grab a towel, and grumble all the way to the bathroom.

 

 

-

 

  
Most of you is still dripping by the time you get out of the shower and attempted to do a quick towel-off, and as it turns out, since John had let such a little time pass between waking you up in such a harsh way and booting you into the shower, you’d forgotten to take your clothes with you so you could save time by changing in the bathroom.

Since a lack of clothes meant this was not the case, you cinched the towel around your waist, tucked it in(hoping it wouldn’t fall down on the short way to your room) and used a spare towel to scrub violently at your hair in an attempt to dry it quicker and started for your room.  
Passing the kitchen on the way, you spotted John trying to read while eating- a feat the both of them had almost perfected over time. ‘Hey can you grab me a bowl’ John didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear him. Sigh. You wish you could say this was a rare occurrence. ‘Hey.’ Pause. ‘John.’ Pause. ‘Jooooooooohn!’  
He finally looked up, and his chewing stilled for a moment and you took this as a chance to repeat your question.  
‘Hey can you grab me a bowl?’

John gave a distracted nod, and you put it down to something happening in the book.

‘Cool thanks.’

You change, slipping a dark red long-sleeved shirt on, rolling the sleeves up a little, shrugging a waistcoat on over top of that, fiddling with the buttons for a damn long time(why do you have to be forced to do buttons before coffee something is obviously wrong with the world) and tug on pants. Shoes can wait till you get pulled out of the door, you think. Breakfast- and more importantly coffee, however, cannot.

 

Flicking the jug on, you wait for it to boil(so you can make your soul-rejuvenating coffee) and snag the bowl that is waiting for you on the table, as per requested, and tiptoe-peered into the cupboard to see if you think you can reach the box of cereal you want that is for some uncanny reason always without fail near the back of the cupboard. You’ve long since assumed that it’s just John playing an under-the-table prank on you and have just learned to live with it.  
You stretch till you can grab the box, and start pouring it into the bowl. Then back the box goes, near the front, full well knowing that it’s going to be at the back again tomorrow, and out comes the milk, slopping against the sides, probably with a seriously misjudged cereal to milk ratio, then back in the fridge.

Jug boiled, finally, and you set to work making your heavenly drink.

 

 

You burnt your tongue in the haste to get some caffeine in your system, but no matter, that tended to happen most mornings.

 

‘Whatcha reading?’ It’s asked between bites, and by the time John looks up and goes ‘Hmm?’ in a distracted way, you’re on to another one, so answering has to wait a moment.  
Swallow, then a wave of the spoon. ‘What’re you reading?’  
John’s line of sight flickered down to the book he was holding a little bit in front of him, then back up to you. He almost looked sheepish, and you aren’t entirely sure why. Then he lifted the book up, and-

‘You’re reading _Hannibal Rising_? Dude, you’ve been ignoring that thing- that whole series for years- ever since I tried to get you into it. Why are you goin’ at it now?’  
‘Weeeelll,’ John scratched at his neck absent-mindedly. ‘I caught the tail end of one of the movies a couple of nights ago and it seemed interesting, so..’

‘Do you like it?’  
‘ _Hannibal_ ended weirdly but yeah I like em- think I’m going to have to properly watch the movies some day soon.’

Now that was just an open invitation. ‘Next minute we have free I am plopping you down on the couch and we are watching the damn movies- _all of them_ and there is nothing you can do about it. Are we clear?’  
John gave a nod, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle, and you grin.  
‘Then it’s a date.’

There’s a subtle change in John’s expression at that, something that you cant quite put your finger on.

 

Breakfast is done with quickly, even though you mourn the lack of time to savor the coffee, and the both of you have to shove your feet into shoes and headphones into ears(and for you, glasses onto face) and bugger off out the door.  
  
The long day has begun.  
  
  
-  
  
  
John tended to just tag along to things like the shoots, on the occasions where he wasn’t in them. He was from time to time, since he sometimes played piano for it. He wasn’t in much of the screen time, but he preferred it that way, didn’t like being on camera too often, even when he got told to- mainly concentrated on his piano to avoid getting too nervous.

This was one of the times where he didn’t need to be in the video, but he had nothing better to do, and he thought that if he left you alone that you’d probably stop off somewhere on the way and forget the time and miss the whole thing completely. (You totally hadn’t done that before psh no not at all.)

A few hours went past, and all you wanted to do was to just go back to the flat and fling a blanket over your head and catch up on sleep.

 

Eventually, there was a part of it where they were trying to get you to do something- you were only half paying attention cause you were sort of bored out of your mind.

Then, your eyes drifted to John, and you had a quick chat with the people, then went trotting over.

 

‘Jooooooooohn c’mere’

You grabbed his arm and went back to the set, him in tow, and let the people give John the quick rundown about the plan for the few seconds they had to shoot.

 

It was rather entertaining watching the expression changes on his face.

John was quiet for a second before he squeaked out, ‘You want what’

You tugged at his sleeve. ’C’mon it’d be weird if I did it with a random and it’ll be much more fun than sitting in the corner like you’ve been doing so far.’

‘But-‘

Deploy attempted puppy dog eyes.  
Puppy dog eyes is a go.

Confirmed hit I repeat confirmed hit Egbert’s will to defy seems to be crumbling.  
He sighed. ‘Fine, I suppose.’

Puppy dog eyes were a success- I repeat, a success.

Fistpump to celebrate.

 

‘I can’t believe you dragged me into this,’ John mumbled, right before the people behind the cameras started counting down. You shoot him a quick smile, and don’t reply, as they’ve gotten to two.

 

‘One,’

You always expect them to say action, like in the movies or mock-ups, but they just slam their hand down in the air, like one of those things at a train crossing.

 

And there’s the cue to push John(gentlyish) down on to a bed/couch hybrid thing, and at the word ‘sinner’, start this slow sort of crawl towards him(that you've been _told_ looks attractive but you just feel like a moron doing so), eyes half-lidded and biting your lip in the gap after it that lacked words.

-John sort of panicked in the first take, a flush lighting his face and letting out an ‘uhhhhhh..’  
They had to do the scene again.

…………And again, since John did a slightly toned-down version of the first take.

 

Third or fourth time he was calmed down enough to do more or less what the people wanted.

 

The second after they said that they’d got the shot and everyone started filtering to the next scene, a grin stretched across your face and you cracked up, bending your head to laugh into John’s shirt.

 

He shifted slightly, mumbling something into your hair that you couldn’t quite catch.  
‘Hmm?’ You’re still slightly out of breath, and you lift your head as a way of asking him to repeat whatever he’d said. He almost looked like he was blushing, still a little red in the face, and his gaze was elsewhere, though you think you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.  
‘I said you could give me some damn warning next time.’

‘Hey they told you what they wanted you to do, that was warning enough.’  
‘That was like going ‘oh hey a bombs gonna go off!’ and then the previously-mentioned bomb goes off two seconds later you little shit’’  
‘Gotta keep you on your toes man. Cant have the thrill of your day to be because of a video game.’

 

 

-

 

The day was finally over, and you were back at the flat, feet propped up on the other end of the couch- and subsequently on John, who happened to move in to sit there.

You were both reading, him halfway through _Hannibal Rising_ , and you deciding to reread _Red Dragon_ , when you let out a long thoughtful hum.

John looked up, though didn’t put the book down. ‘What?’  
Your book was down on your lap, and your head was inclined back to look at the ceiling. ‘Just wondering if they’re actually gonna use that footage in the video.’

‘Well they still might make you go back and do it with some random girl.’  
‘Yeah that’d just be weird.’  
‘What and you’re saying that with me it wasn’t weird? Hell if anything shouldn’t it be weirder?”  
You shrug as a response, and neither of you talk for a few minutes, John going back to his book, and you continuing to look up at the ceiling. A smile crossed your face.

‘Imagine if they do use it though- your starting-to-panic-a-little blushing face spread everywhere.’  
‘That’ll be a fair leap if they do- we’re both dudes remember, the media and shit are still warming up to that kind of stuff, and probably more than half of your fans are girls.’  
 ‘Apparently a fair few of the fans like that kind of thing.’

‘What really?’  
‘Dunno, ‘parently.’  
‘Huh, didn’t know that.’

 

-

 

In the end, the clip _was_ in fact, used in the video, and you couldn’t help laughing when you saw John’s reaction to seeing it for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my updating is irregular as fuck and im sorry about that so dont expect one chapter every day(or even every week eep)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its past one in the morning i blame that for any mistakes or really weird sentences

Because everyone in the band had slightly different tastes, and the fact that the company wanted to draw in as many fans as possible(they took a little bit of a risk doing this, but they let them do it anyway), they tended to not be set down by one particular genre, doing some love songs here and some more air-drumming ones here and some completely strange ones over that way and suchforth.

All the members preferred it that way, since they seemed to enjoy not being set by one specific kind of song.

None of the ones about love had pronouns, for the most part, and that fact caused a little bit of rumour to spread around.

That, coupled with the fact that Dave basically never went anywhere without John, and that they shared a flat.

 

More than once and increasingly often, during interviews or at appearances, he’d been asked if he and John were a thing. The first couple of times he was a bit thrown, but then he was doing a little laugh, brushing it off and giving an answer similar to; ‘naaa he’s just my bro.’ As it went on and the questions kept coming, however, he started getting a little twitchy around them, a little more annoyed.

The first time he did anything but the laugh and brush off, he had frowned, looking genuinely irritated, and had said ‘He’s my best and oldest friend why do people keep asking- can you please stop?’

The two of them never really talked about it, on occasion joked about it, but never for very long.(Once when he was really bored John had googled Dave and had found something called fanfiction of him and Dave- had in fact told him about it when he’d appeared and they’d both snorted over some of the stories ‘Well that’d never happen’ ‘How can you be sure I’d _totally_ surprise you in your room wearing a bikini what on earth was that person on when they wrote that’)

 

Because of the repeated question, and the fact that he hadn’t really been expressing interest in anyone else at _all,_ the company eventually decided to give Dave a beard- a fake girlfriend.

Who just so happened to be one of his band members, Roxy. The press went wild with that, and the whole ‘dating a band member’ thing.

She was a cool chick and all, you both agreed, and luckily she didn’t actually have any feelings for Dave, which made it easier all round- well the public appearances were chafing sometimes, pretending to be together, but she was the type of gal that they could joke around about it with, which sometimes helped them to act like a couple.

(John was still jealous about it though.)

 

 

-

 

 

‘Why is she coming round again?’  
Dave sighed, letting the book he was holding over his head drop down and hit him in the face. He left it there and spoke through the pages, the words sounding slightly warped. ‘The goddamned media have been on our butts about if our ‘relationship’ is rocky since she and I haven’t met for a while, so we figured she might as well come over for a bit, let the paps catch wind and sort of settle down again- well settle down in the way they do, which is get all up in our faces.’

‘When will she be here?’  
‘Probably about half an hour I dunno.’  
‘How long she’s gonna stay?’  
‘Fuck knows.’

 

You copy him, sighing, and go back to reading, scanning the pages idly for a few minutes, not really taking any of the words in. At some point you hear Dave get up, but you continue to try to focus on the book.

Maybe you looked as shitty as you felt right then, since a couple of minutes later, Dave’s legs shifted into your view, off to the side.

Which meant he was standing right next to you.

You slide your finger down to your spot, then look up. Dave’s got a hand extended, and he’s smiling ever so slightly- which usually only meant one thing.

Your guess proved to be correct when Dave says; ‘I think it’s about the time for Random duet.’  
It was a thing that you’ve been doing for years, since you two were about ten- one of you would go up to the other, usually when neither of you were doing anything particularly productive at the time, and stick a hand out and say ‘Random duet,’ and you’d both start singing, always the same song to begin with, then switching after you’d finished that one. It almost always ended up in jumping on a piece of furniture(and once resulted in a broken window.)  
A smile started pooling across your face, and you shut the book, tossing it aside, accepting Dave’s hand and he pulled you to your feet.

There was a beat of silence as you looked at each other, then opened your mouths.

 

Dave- ‘Oh.’

You- ‘Well imagine.’

Dave- ‘As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor,’

You- ‘And I can’t help but to hear,’

Dave- ‘No I can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words’

You- ‘’What a beautiful wedding! What a beautiful wedding!’ says a bridesmade to a waiter,’

Dave- ‘’Ah yes, but what a shame, what a shame the poor groom’s bride is a whore-‘’

 

The two of you had this down to an art by now, trading off the start lines, adding the expressions and movements, until you got to the chorus, and the rest of the song.

That small pause in the music, the change from verse to chorus, was always met with smiles, and then the words started again, and so did the slight insanity.

From there on out, the both of you did it in sync, voices overlapping the others, you sounding not unlike a dying cat and Dave in all his vocal glory, combined and completed with these not-so-little silly arm and head movements that were as sassy as they were idiotic(that they spent a week or so back a few years figuring out so they could do it at the same time.)

 

When the two of you finish, a little out of breath, cheek muscles hurting because of how much damn smiling you were doing, you ask which song Dave wanted to do next. He grinned, then said ‘I’ve been wanting to do this one for a while- wait a sec-‘ His fingers weave in the air as if he was trying to figure out how the music went- which he probably was.

‘Okay got it.’

He took a breath, then, _really_ loudly, sang;  
‘AND IIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOOOOVE YOO-‘

He cut off when you shoved him, laughing, ‘Pick a proper song you damn idiot!’

 

You ended up singing ‘You shook me all night long’, then ‘American Pie’, which was difficult to sing cheerfully but you both gave it a shot, followed up by ‘What I’ve been looking for’ along with ‘Now or never’ and ‘Bop to the top’ (Dave had this strange thing with high school musical back when they were younger and made you watch all of them- multiple times- so you felt like being a shit and reminding him about it. Three songs worth of reminding.)  
Halfway through the next song, when your voices were starting to get scratchy and your cheek muscles were begging for it all to stop, the door opened and you and Dave cut off at once.

 

Roxy was leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows drawn together and mouth set in a curious but rather amused expression. ‘Where you singing high school musical?’  
‘Maybe,’ Dave sounded out of breath, and you tried to ignore noticing that. ‘How long have you been there?’  
‘Long enough. Plus people can probably hear you all the way down the hall.’

 

Part of you was irrationally pissed off at her interrupting, and overhearing. It was his and Dave’s thing, no-one elses. As she shucked off her jacket and shoes, you shift, trying to pretend that the little hard knot in your stomach wasn’t because of her appearance, clearing your throat. ‘Well, I’m gonna go out for a bit.’  
Dave seemed to pause, turning back to you. ‘What, why?’  
He got a one-sided shrug, shoulder lifting, head tilting as if to make your cheek hit your arm, before it dropped back down a second later. ‘Dunno. Makes sense for the paps- can’t have your girlfriend coming over and your flatmate staying the entire time.’

There was a look on Dave’s face like he wanted to say something, but you brushed past him before he could say anything. ‘Sorry I gotta piss off Roxy, but yknow, rumours and all.’ She gives you a nod, though she has an interesting expression on too, one that you can’t quite figure out, and your gaze quickly darts away from her.

You quickly toss on a jacket and pull on some shoes and a beanie, since it was getting colder out recently, tugging it down past your ears. You slip in some headphones, and give a small wave to Roxy and Dave before you slipped out the door, leaving them with a last, ‘Have fun lovebirds.’  
You think that Dave started to say something, but then the door closed and you were walking away.

 

 

It felt stupid, you think as you stuff your hands into your pockets and thumb the volume button upwards, not wanting to communicate with anyone.

It was stupid because you full well know that Roxy is an awesome girl and that you really did like her company before she became Dave’s fake girlfriend. It was jealousy kicking up, you knew, you knew the name of that ball that appeared in your stomach when she came round.

You also knew you were starting to get a little bit passive-aggressive, finding reasons to cut conversations short or denying that anything’s wrong or leaving just like you had then or just not being able to look at her half the time.

It was stupid it was idiotic but you _couldn’t help it_ and it sucked.

 

You end up just sitting in a park for a couple of hours, music turned up loud and listlessly looking at the various layers of grey in the sky, letting yourself get distracted by the chilling wind that breezed through every other second.

It was likely that you caught a cold, and you knew it, but you didn’t want to return to the flat to find Dave with Roxy, probably walk in on them laughing or something. The idea twisted in your gut.  
There was a little part of your head that always worried when he left them that if they spent enough time together they might actually start liking each other, and then the fake relationship would turn into a real one, but you always tried to shove that thought as far down as you possibly could.

Eventually though, you got sick of the shitty weather -even if it did do a good job of representing your mood- and thought that she probably should have left by then, and decided to head back.

 

 

 

‘Jesus is it that cold outside? Your nose is roughly about the same colour as Rudolph’s, dude.’  
Dave had levered himself on his elbows, looking at you from the couch as you came through the door.

‘Eh, I was in the wind for a bit so nah its not that cold, just prolonged exposure to it.’  
You got a look, but Dave didn’t say anything.

‘So, where’s Roxy?’ You asked as you peeled off your jacket and toe out of your shoes.

‘She left about an hour ago I think? She didn’t stay that long, had stuff to do.’

‘’Mkay.’ Wasn’t much of an answer, but you didn’t feel like thinking of one as you shifted Dave’s legs over and plopped down on the couch, leaning back and just relaxing as only one can do after sitting on a shitty park bench for longer than half an hour.

There was a scraping noise from the coffee table in front of the couch, and you open an eye to look down.

It’s Dave, slowly pushing a cup over to you. A glance at his face indicated that he meant for you to have it, and he laid back down, gesturing to the cup in a way that conveyed 'take it'

‘And what is this?’ You picked it up, and decided it can’t hurt to ask.  
‘Warm drink.’ _Very_ helpful, Dave. ‘Considering its cold outside I thought you might want a bit of warmth when you got back.’

He wasn’t looking at you, looking slightly sheepishly over at the corner, where both of you knew nothing of interest was. ‘It’s probably like, lukewarm at best now so you might want to make another one but,’ he shrugged, still not looking in your direction. ‘Yeah. Just in case.’

The knot in your stomach eased a little, and to hide the small smile you took a sip. He was right, it was only lukewarm, bordering on getting cold, but you didn’t think that you’d make another one. ‘Well, can’t bother getting back up right now so I’m just gonna have to make do with this one aren’t I?’  
From the corner of your eye, you can see Dave finally looking back at you, and the both of you smile, just a little.

 

‘Thanks, Dave.’  
'No problem.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dORKSDORKSDORKSDORKS


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend pointed out to me that chapters one and three(johns ones) are mainly in past tense and chapters two and this one(daves ones) are in present  
> ..........  
> lets just pretend that that's supposed to happen  
> imsosorryimhorriblewithtensesimnotusedtowritingwith'you'astheperspective

It’s roughly about what, two or so in the morning, and you still can’t get to goddamned sleep, and you’ve got a concert today and your mind will not shut its fucking trap.

It takes another ten fruitless minutes of tossing around on the mattress before you roughly push the covers away and head towards the lounge.

You figure maybe video games might help- or at the very least should keep you more entertained than just letting your brain go on and on.

 

At around three or so, John wanders in, sleepy-looking and rubbing at his eyes, probably up for a drink or to take a piss or something.

‘Ah sorry man, did I wake you?’ Your eyes are fixed on the screen, since you can’t pause the bugger, but you can see in the corner of your vision that he’s shaking his head.   
‘’Ust wanted water.’ It’s punctuated by a yawn, and you wave a hand in his direction.

‘Get your water and go back to bed. You know how you are if you stay awake this early.’

He makes a mumbling noise, and shuffles off, and you can hear him clunking about in the kitchen for a cup, then the sound of running water.

 

A handful of seconds later, and he’s back, gently placing down the cup on the coffee table that’s in front of the couch you’re lounging on, and plonks down beside you.

For a couple of seconds, the only noise was the quiet sounds from the game, emitting from the TV now and again.

Then, hesitantly,   
‘Don’t you have a concert…. Today?’  
‘Yeah, so?’  
‘Shouldn’t you go to sleep?’  
‘Can’t. And if you’re worried about me needing my beauty rest and shit, just a reminder that they slather enough makeup on me beforehand to choke a goddamn horse, doesn’t matter if there’s a couple of bags under my eyes.’

Another minute of silence, before John gestures towards the other controller. ‘Mind if I join?’  
‘Knock yourself out if you want to fuck up your sleeping schedule as bad as mine.’

John picks up the controller, and joins the game.

 

Slowly, the clock hands move and as they do, you can feel yourself getting out of the little snippy funk you’ve been in, and by the time the little hand is at half past three, you’re both yelling at the screen and smiling ear to ear, hurling insults at the screen and each other, and jerking the controllers wildly in the air, left and right, upwards and downwards, as if that would help.

 

By quarter to five, the screen is displaying the blinking blankness of disuse, and is illuminating the two of you, asleep, leaning against each other, conked out on the couch.

 

 

-

 

 

‘Daaaaaaaaave’ is what you surface out of sleep to- it feels like you’ve only been asleep about two seconds, but the light shining through the curtains and into the room says otherwise. About all you can figure out is that you’re on your side. ‘Dave.’  
‘Mmnnnnnn wh’t?’ It’s not exactly the smartest of sentences, but hey, you’re barely conscious enough to be considered awake by any sane person.

‘Get the hell up you’re alarm has been going for ages.’  
‘N’ it has’t.’ You snuggle closer to the softness against your face, tightening your arms- that are already wrapped around whatever it is. You thank god for whoever designed, produced, and bought this lovely pillow.

‘Yeah man it has. Just cause you have the ability to sleep through an explosion, doesn’t mean I don’t wake up to an alarm clock.’

A mumble serves as your response.

‘Dude,’ the pillow, which you’re beginning to realise _might not_ be in fact, a pillow, per se, moves a bit. ‘Get up or I’ll kick you off the couch.’

You just tighten your grip more. ‘I’d like to see you try.’

The not-pillow-that-is-in-fact-John rises and deflates as he sighs. Then, he shifts, bringing his feet up to your chest and pushes, prying you away from him _(comfy not-pillow nooo)_ and letting you thump, slightly painfully, on the carpet.

A moment or two passes as you just lay there, spread out like a starfish, then you let out a breath, turning your head slightly to look up at John, where he’s peeking over the lip of the couch.

‘You make a good pillow, y’know. Comfiest one I’ve ever used.’

‘Good to know, might use that as a backup if this ends up a bust. Now get your ass up.’

A heavy sigh, before you lever yourself into a sitting position, then using both the coffee table and the couch edge, to standing. ‘Coffee first man.’

You can see him roll his eyes. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you ever get sick of coffee first thing in the morning.’

‘It’s my lifeblood and you know it.’

‘Suppose I’ll go turn the bloody alarm off then.  
‘Atta boy.’

 

 

-

 

 

It’s the same kind of thing that you’ve had to get used to, the glare from the lights and the screaming fans and the strange sound of your voice amplified a heckload.

The singing itself is more or less easy, since its what you’ve always done, with added helpful tips that have been drilled into you by now.

Its normal, nothing out of the norm—until there’s a big fucking crack and a ripping sound from overhead, that cuts through the music, and you jerk without thinking about it, to the side, cutting off any words, any thought of singing, while simultaneously looking up at the roof, up at the mass of blaring lights that’s coming down.

Backpedaling seems to be a good option.

 

 

-

 

 

You… aren’t entirely sure what happened directly after the backpedaling. Logically, you know that the lights must have come down, crashed into the middle of the stage, caused a big fucking noise and mess, and-

You slowly become aware of ringing in your ears and that you’re not standing, and you blink, which feels like it takes ten seconds to complete. The buzzing shifts slightly, letting in a fuzzy, ‘Dave? _Dave?’_ which is singled out among the other jumbled equally fuzzy noises.

‘I-’ Is all that comes out of your mouth, all that you can think of other than a big gigantic question mark, which is difficult to voice, and a face comes into view, a little blurry.  _‘Dave?’_  
‘J..ohn?’ He looks scared, that much at least registers, and he’s checking you up and down, hands a little bit above, not actually touching you, and you can make out him asking ‘Are you okay?’  
‘I- I think I’m fi-‘ Your hand comes up to touch your forehead, but the movement puts weight on your other arm, causing a sharp pain to stab up through it. Automatically this causes you to jerk it upward, which provides you with no support whatsoever and you overbalance, falling backwards to hit the stage floorboards. A groan forces its way up your throat, and you want to grab at your arm but you know even now that that’s not the brightest idea so you just cradle it against your chest and John is there and he’s looking so fucking worried-

 

With your non-hurt hand you try to push him away, to get him to stop fussing over you and see how everything and everyone else is faring- ‘John I’m fine.’ As you say so, you move wrongly and jar your arm, causing a ripple of pain and you bite back a hiss, and he just snaps ‘You obviously are not so come with me _, now_.’

He helps you up, and looking round, it seems like a bundle of chaos, screaming –the bad kind- from fans, who where being shepherded out, some of his band getting tended to. As far as he could see, no-one had been killed, which was something just short of a fucking miracle.

 ‘What’s- Is everyone..?’  
‘Everyone’s fine, more or less, we think, definitely all of the crew and such, and the fans weren’t close enough to the stage to get hurt.’

Your eyes flicker shut for a second, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

 

 

-

 

 

You had known that John was ansty and worried about you, but when you were in the hospital getting your arm checked out, the stage manager showed up and started apologizing profusely, saying that the lights had been faulty and the techies hadn’t noticed and the people responsible had been fired- and John completely lost it.

He’d been hovering near you since it had happened, and after a couple of minutes of hurried explanation from the man and many apologies, he visibly snapped, starting to yell at the guy.

You know that it was because John was scared shitless –you can see it in his movements- but you hadn’t expected him to yell at him.

A couple of minutes pass, and the guy’s head is bowed, barely even trying to deflect the blame, and John is still yelling.

‘-LIGHTS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! WHAT WERE YOU-‘

‘John.’ Your voice is quiet, much quieter than usual, but it stops him in his tracks, and he turns to you. ‘Dude, it’s not his fault. It was just a shitty accident.’

The buck-toothed idiot looked like he was mad to the verge of crying. ‘Dave if you hadn’t moved or if it had been over to the left a bit more then it could have _killed_ you.’

You don’t really have a response to that, other than, ‘Just.. don’t take it out on this guy.’

John simmers down eventually, says sorry to the man, who absconds quickly, and then John’s hovering next to you again.

 

 

-

 

 

Your arm ends up getting a plaster cast put on it, since you had cracked the bone, likely from simply landing on it the wrong way.

John fusses over you the entire way back to the flat, and when you two got there, he more or less made you lay on the couch and scurried around doing thing after thing for you, to make sure you’re comfortable and not in pain, and it was doing the opposite than the intended, making you feel shitty and useless- and when he offered to help you _stand_ for christssake, you have had goddamn enough, and you tensed your shoulders and barked out,

‘For fucking sake John I’ve got a cracked arm bone- I’m not a fucking invalid, I can take care of myself.’

John recoiled slightly, looking like he’d been stung. His expression caused the ball of irritation in your chest to deflate, making you feel suddenly empty, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.  ‘Sorry man I just- sorry.’

His reply was so soft you can barely hear it. ‘S’okay, I’m just glad you’re still here.’

He was looking down, fiddling with the sleeves of his jersey, and you stand up, cross over to him and envelop him in a one-armed hug, smiling a bit as you pull back a little to ruffle his hair. ‘Me too, Egbert.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny thing is the last half of this i was listening to i dont dance from high school musical  
> totally suits the mood yeaaaaah
> 
> anyway  
> the next chapter might be this from johns perspective


End file.
